


Sentinel

by romanoff



Series: held [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Collars, Dom Steve Rogers, Leashes, M/M, Mutually Assured Gratification, Spanking, Steve Rogers Angst, Sub Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanoff/pseuds/romanoff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Steve sees things he wishes he didn't have to. Tony offers a way to make it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentinel

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for discussion of past rape and mention of torture, not in great detail, but still.

 

This is where Tony should be.

Safe, warm. Collared and tethered to the bed. His head rests, pillowed on his arms, his breathing in strong and slow. He yawns, back stretching, toes curling; Steve watches his ass, soft and plump, shift when he curls one knee closer to his chest.

His hands are so gentle. Relaxed and loose, they follow their natural curve. He blinks slowly, eyes heavy, every line on his face smoothed out, blissed out, unwound and perfect.

This is how he should always be.

Steve gets an unholy amount of pleasure from having his sub safe in his bed. Leashed so he can't leave. Collared, so everyone knows he's his. Having Tony like this, having him so content -- it makes him happy. He can survey the scene with a heavy purr in his chest, can sit on the chair with his shield propped against the leg and know that Tony is protected.

After missions, after long, hazardous trips... having Tony like this? Sometimes, it's all he has to look forward to. Sometimes, having Tony here, under his guard, is the only thing that stops the shakes.

After missions -- hard missions -- Tony will kneel by his feet. He'll service him, reverently, always with that half-smile, that knowing glare. He won't ask Steve what happened, and Steve won't tell him. If it's a bad one, Tony will just know.

Steve will curl his hand through Tony's hair, down back over his head, tug him close. Tony will lay kisses up the inside of Steve's thighs. He'll rest his head there, and Steve will revel in his presence, quietly, one hand resting on the pulse of his neck, feeling the steady beat.

There will be times that Tony will remove his shoes, work out the aches from his feet, his calves, his shoulders. Tipping oil over his spine and smoothing out the knots. Or they will shower; Tony, carefully removing layers of dirt and muck and filth and blood and Steve, holding his wet, soaping body against the rough stone tiles, one hand pushing against the length of Tony's cock, the other holding his hands firm above his head. Heat and rock, skin and sweat.

Times like this, though. Times like this. When a mission doesn't go bad, but Steve sees things. Tony doesn't know. Tony will never know. Steve shouldn't keep secrets, maybe, but some things can't be talked about. Tony did his own time, he spent three months in that cave. He knows the dirty, darker side of life. Sunset Bain threw him under, men have ripped him apart. Steve likes to think that Tony came out stronger.

He's not so sure about himself. 

When he sees what he sees... when he sees --

Having Tony safe, at these moments in time, is the best thing for him. Steve's fingers twitch over the metal of his shield. Any movement, any noise, he's ready. Tony will not be harmed.

"Steve," he murmurs "come back to bed."

"Shh." Steve says, quietly. "Not yet. You go back to sleep, Tony. I'm not going anywhere."

Tony sighs, softly. "Steve," he says, tiredly. "I'm cold."

Steve stands, abruptly. "Here," he says, smoothing the blanket up over Tony's back, tucking it round his shoulders. "Sorry, there -- is that better? Tony?"

Tony twists, catching him, fingers pressing into his arms. "Stay." He says. "In _bed._ With me. C'mon, Steve." Tony's tone is half pleading, half exasperated.

Steve smiles down at him, curls his hand over his cheek, runs his thumbs over the jewels in the collar. "No," he says "not now. You sleep first, sweetie, okay? I want to make sure you -- you sleep first."

Tony's face flitters with something uncomfortable. His brows twist. "Steve." He says, voice quiet. "What happened."

"Nothing." Steve says easily, taking his seat, his guarding post. "You look gorgeous, did you know that?"

Tony settles, albeit suspiciously. Steve props his feet up on the bed, draws the shield onto his lap. His knife presses against the inside of his thigh, and the gun he has hidden in his jacket, still dirty from the op, is kept close.

"We can shower." Tony says, laying lax on his side. "Steve, I think you'd feel better if -- "

"I'm fine." He says, maybe too brusquely, because Tony blinks, avoids his eyes. "I'm fine." He repeats, this time softer. "Go to sleep."

"You're watching me."

"I'm keeping you safe."

"I'd rather you slept with me, Steve. Kept me safe in bed."

Steve's fingers clench over the leather of the shield. "You have no idea."

"No idea about what, sweetie?"

Steve grunts. "Go to sleep." He says, and this time it's an order.

Tony narrows his eyes, sitting up. "Something's wrong." He says. When he shifts, the leash tying him to the bed falls gently off the pillow, stretching taut as he reaches for Steve, crawls forward. "Steve. Tell me."

"Go to _sleep."_ Steve growls. "That's the last time I'm going to tell you, Tony."

Tony kneels there, holds his chin high. Naked, brave, collar loose on his neck and tied to the bed. That's where he needs to be. It's where Steve can keep him safe. And now, he's staring Steve down, defiant, arms crossed. "Steve," he says, not warningly, his voice is soft. But there is some recrimination there, he's doubting Steve. He clearly thinks something is wrong.

"You're disobeying."

"You're not telling the truth." Tony says, plaintively.

"Tony," Steve says, half begging. "Please, just sleep. Just tonight, let me keep you safe."

"Steve, I can't do that if I think something's wrong."

" _Nothing's wrong."_ He hisses. "You -- enough. Sleep, _now."_

"It doesn't work that way, Steve," Tony moves forward, as far as the chain allows. "I'm awake, now, because I know something's wrong. Steve, how can you expect me to -- "

"To what." Steve cuts in.

"To trust you." Tony says, measuredly. "How can I trust you if you won't tell me what's wrong?"

"Because that's what trust is." Steve says, bluntly. "You don't need to know. There was a time when subs understood that. They took their dom's word for it."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "You mean that? You really think that?"

"No." Steve admits. "But I want you to listen to me now. Get back on that bed and put your head on the pillow and I don't care how -- " he voice catches, but he clears his throat "I don't care how long it takes, you will sleep, and I will watch and in the morning, this will, this will be nothing, and we will laugh."

"I don't think there's anything funny about this." Tony says, seriously. "I think you're avoiding something important, and I want you to tell me what happened on that mission."

"It's not your place to worry about me. I worry about you. Sleep."

"Will you tell me?" Tony says "In the morning?"

"No."

"Then we've reached a stalemate, haven't we."

Silence. Steve's curls his fist on his knee. "Tony," he says quietly. "Sleep, now, or I will punish you."

Tony stares at him, eyes guarded. "Punish me." He repeats.

"Yes." Steve says, and his voice doesn't waver.

"All right then." Tony says, crossing his arms. "Punish me."

Steve looks away. "Go to sleep." He says, gruffly.

"What," Tony says "no punishment?"

"I meant what I said."

"Have I been a bad boy?" Tony mocks "Do I need a good, hard spanking, is that it, Sir? I won't listen, but Steve knows best, what would Tony know about -- " Steve stands, paces to the other end of the room "about repressing bad experiences and hiding things from people who care, it's not like I wrote the fucking book."

"I'm not doing this now." Steve grits out, breathing hard, hand braced on the wall. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

"No, we won't." Tony says. "I know we won't. Because I'll sleep, and when I wake up you'll be fresh and clean and pretend nothing ever happened. You can't hide things like this from me. You can't treat me like glass, Steve. You think I don't hear you, at night? I don't hear you in your sleep? I know you leave. I don't know where you go. I've given you space, I've given you time. But if you're going to tie me to a bed and forbid me to leave, then I deserve answers." Tony pauses. "Then I _think_ I deserve answers. You may -- you may disagree."

Steve takes in a breath, presses his hand against the wall. He turns. "Over my knee." He breathes, striding back to the chair. "Now."

Tony blinks. "What?"

Steve rips the leash from the headboard, tugs, not hard enough to pull Tony across the bed but enough that he jerks forward, slightly. He sits himself down, leash held in one hand, and he clicks his fingers with the other. "Over my knee or I bruise your balls, too."

Tony's face flushes, slightly. "Steve -- "

"You're not made of glass."

"And you're supposed to be my protector."

"Isn't that the point?" Steve says, not breaking eye contact for a second. "I punish you when, when I feel that you're pushing for something that's not good for you?"

Tony squares his jaw. "If that's how you feel." He says, simply. "Fine. This is what I signed up for. I trust you. If it's as simple as that, then maybe all I needed is a few good slaps to set me good. Right, Steve?"

"Right."

"Except you have to admit there's something more."

"Something more to what."

"Steve, I banked at a near ninety-degree angle last week to shake off a missile. I nearly crashed my head into a building. Your response was to tie me to the bed and blow me until I came dry. That's not quite the same punishment that you have in mind. Admit that you want to punish me."

"I don't want to punish you."

"Admit it. You want to hurt me."

"I _don't_ want to hurt you." 

"Steve," Tony says, gently. "It's natural."

"No." He says. "No, it's not. I mean -- I'm not doing this to hurt you. It's, it's a lesson."

Tony's hand rests on his knee. "Steve," he says softly "if you want to hurt me -- if, if this is some kind of stress relief... it's okay. I understand."

"It's not."

"Okay." Tony says evenly. "It's not, is that better? I'll say you're doing this because I'm a bad boy who really needs it. Whatever helps you sleep easy."

"I'm not -- " Steve's voice wavers "I'm not one of those doms."

Tony stands. He presses his hand against Steve's cheek, tips up his chin. "Listen to me." He says quietly. "I'm not holding judgement on anything. I know doms, Steve. You -- you take care of me. And when I need you, you're there. And now it's a two way street. And I know there's something, something you're not telling me," Tony releases his breath with a heavy sigh "but it's something I'll figure out later. Right now," Tony takes Steve's hand, guides it to his bare ass "I want you to hurt me. Do you understand? I want to do whatever you need to take you out of your head."

Steve stares at him, stares up at him. "No." He says "No. God, no, that's not what I want, that's not -- "

"Shh." Tony says, and he smoothes his hands over the back of Steve's head, presses him to his chest. "It's alright."

Steve sobs. He clutches at Tony, any part he can find, his hands tightening around his waist and one hand bracing itself between his shoulder blades. "I'm sorry." He cries. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that, I didn't mean it."

"I know." Tony soothes. "I know, honey. Shh, tell me what happened, please. Steve, don't cry, tell me what happened."

Steve slides out the chair, his foot kicking free the shield from where it's still propped against the chair. He falls to his knees, clutches Tony's legs, head buried in his stomach. "I -- " he sucks in a breath "I was going to hurt you. For fuck's sake, I was going to beat you, I -- never do that, never when I'm angry."

"I know." Tony says, evenly. "You told me, first thing you told me, punishment should always take place at least a day after infraction. We agreed that. Remember why?"

Steve nods. "I remember," he sobs "I remember."

"You did." Tony says. "You didn't hurt me. And even if you had, I would have forgiven you. You're human. I don't, I don't expect a paradigm of virtue. Not from you, never from you."

Steve can't stop himself, and he can't control himself. He has cried like this before; after mom, after Buck, after waking up. Now, it's like a wave. He's never loved someone the same way he loves Tony. And he's never seen what he saw on that mission today.

"Hey," Tony says softly "hey." He tilts back Steve's head. "C'mon, stand. I should be the one kneeling, not you." Tony picks up the abandoned end of the leash, pushes it into Steve's hand. "Hold this." He says. "Onto the bed. Come on."

Steve drags himself onto the sheets, holds his head in his hand, droops. He can't stop crying. Stop crying, _stop._ Just breathe, act normal, just do it, Steve, _do it._

"Cry," Tony says, gently "it's okay. Cry." He kneels up, wraps his arms around Steve's shoulders and rocks him, like he's a child, like he's small and weak, and Steve digs his fingers into Tony's bare skin, sobs, and lets Tony hold him.

Tony moves back, after a few minutes, when Steve's racking shakes begin to subside. He leans back on his heels, looks at Steve, considering. He thumbs over the places where tears have stained Steve's cheeks, drys his eyes. Waits.

And it takes Steve a long, long time to speak. He's still wearing his jacket, the thick, waterproof he wore for the mission, covered in dirt from the trek back to the helicopter. He runs his hands over his eyes, his nose. He smells. He hasn't washed yet. So desperate had he been to get Tony safe, so anxious was he not to leave, he hasn't even taken off his filthy, muddy boots.

Tony smoothes his hands down over Steve's head. "Come here." He murmurs, taking Steve's hand and sitting him on the edge of the bed. He drags off the cumbersome coat and throws it into a corner, smoothing out Steve's shoulders with warm hands.

"Thank you." Steve says, voice still shaking.

Tony's clever fingers make deft work of his shirt, tugging it over his head. His pants go the same way. Tony pads, still naked, over to the drawer and takes out a shirt. "Put this on." He says quietly.

Steve does. In the meantime, he hears running water. Tony is in the bathroom. He returns with a bowl of warm, soapy water. A sponge.

"Here." He says quietly as he kneels and carefully unworks the laces of Steve's boots. He manages to tug them off with a wince, socks following the coat into the corner.

"No." Steve says, because what Tony is about to do is an act of... complete submission. Steve does not want that. He does not deserve that.

"Be quiet." Tony hums, lifting Steve's foot. He soaks it in the water, runs the sponge over the ridges leading down to his toes. It tickles his soles.

He chokes himself trying to keep down another sob. He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve Tony, not after what happened. 

Tony wrings out the sponge and gently dries Steve's feet with a towel. He pushes the bowl aside and looks up. "You ready?" He asks.

"Ready?" Steve croaks.

"To tell me."

Steve tries to hide his head again. "It," he begins "it was nothing."

"Steve," Tony says softly "that's a lie. I know that's a lie."

Steve swallows. Takes in a shaky breath. Clears his throat. "Right." He says. "Okay. Uh." He shakes his head. "So, it was, it was a raid. One man. I had back-up waiting offside but intel said the place was scientists only, no guards."

Tony frowns. "None? Where was this?"

"Near the Russian border. I've had work there before but -- not like this. That was all intelligence collecting. We didn't know. We thought it was just a HYDRA cell, scientists only, barely on it's feet."

"But?" Tony strokes his hands over Steve's shoulders. "But what was it, really?"

Steve meets Tony's eyes. "There were scientists." He says, dully. "And... psychiatrists. The whole thing was wrong, everything we knew was wrong. It shouldn't have been a one-man intel mission, it -- it should have been _extraction."_

Tony blinks. "They had hostages?"

"Twelve. Aged eighteen to forty. All of them subs."

"Oh." Tony says, softly. 

"Yeah." Steve breathes, sucking in a breath. "It never -- it never occurred to me. How did we figure it out? How did we figure out what drugs to take subs under, how did we make them work."

"War."

"Partly. But there I was, looking at a twenty-first century prison camp. It -- " Steve exhales, drags his hands down his face "we catalogued the stuff they were trying out. Truth serums, like Baine gave you, except with the lack of mobility and verbal centres. Things to send subs under, frequencies to drag doms up. There was -- there was one boy, and, and he couldn't have been -- " Steve buries his head in his hands "and he couldn't have been older than twenty. Some of the men in the camp had, they'd taken advantage -- he was a pretty thing, he was too gentle, all these subs, they were -- too human, too -- "

"Shh." Tony says, tucking Steve's head to his chest. "I understand. It took a lot out of you, it's okay."

"No." Steve says "No, that's not it. Because, fine, we got them out. And they're all damaged but -- they have families, and lives and at least they're still living. The whole cell was taken into custody, I don't care what happens to them. Tony, all I could think was -- when you were," Steve swallows "when you. When Baine, or, or those other men, they -- did you look like that? Did you look like that boy did?"

Steve is aware he's shaking again, wracking sobs into Tony's chest. Tony is silent above him, quietly stroking his hair. "Yeah." He says, eventually. "I must have."

It doesn't help. Steve feels sick with the shaking.

"But I'm okay now."

"But you weren't."

"It was a long time ago."

"Baine took you last month."

Tony continues to stroke Steve's hair thoughtfully. "True." He says. "But do I look damaged to you?"

"You did."

The stroking stops. "You don't mean that." Tony says, quietly.

Steve draws back. "You were scared. Tell me you still don't have nightmares."

"I can't." Tony says, honestly. "But everyone has nightmares. You have nightmares."

"And I'm weak."

Tony scoffs. "Please." He says. "If you're weak then what am I? How can you call yourself that? I'm your sub, Steve. If I have a weak dom, then I must be frailest sub there is. Am I weak?"

"No!"

"Then use your damn logic. Having nightmares doesn't make you weak, having emotions does make you any less. You know what's awful?"

"What."

"Doms who don't have what you have. Doms who can't comprehend emotions. Doms who are so wrapped up in their own self-importance, their own sense of right and self-entitlement that they step into a bedroom and they murder their goddamned subs. That's what's awful Every time we step into a bedroom with one of you, we take our lives into our own fucking hands. We take a risk. And I took a risk, with you, that first night. After the Westons. I let you take me down and I still let you take me down because I trust you. And if you, if you don't think your the fucking greatest, because of that alone, well, then." Tony shrugs. "You just must not value my opinion. I'm just a sub, what would I know?"

Steve hangs his head. Smiles, weakly. "I've been damaged a long time."

"Probably." Tony admits. "But we'll get you help, if that's what you want. This isn't the first bad mission."

"It's the only time I've had someone to think about while I was doing it."

"And that must have hurt." Tony says. "It will have hurt. I can understand. You saw that boy, and you saw me. Steve I do the same thing when I visit our troops. When I look into a soldier's eyes, I think -- I always wonder, is this what it's like for Steve? Are these dead eyes... is this how he feels? And then I push it away. Because there's no good in thinking like that. None. You understand? Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Good." Tony pauses. "Next time," he says "don't hide it from me."

Steve looks at him. "I wasn't thinking right." He says. "I wouldn't."

"I know." Tony says softly. "I know that, now."

He stands, leash trailing behind him, goes to the cupboard, stands there, considering. He selects a paddle; well used with little bite. Comes with more of a smack than a sting, but hurts well if used correctly.

Tony draws it down, makes his way back to Steve. And he kneels, at his feet.

"Do you still want to hurt me?" 

"I don't want to punish you."

"But that wasn't what I asked." Tony says, gently. "Do you want to hurt me?"

Steve stares at him, unsure. He's never -- he's punished, yes. Not Tony, but others. And he's been with subs, subs who like pain. Tony has never discussed it with him, and -- and Steve would never admit --

He doesn't know why he forces this part of himself down. He thinks, maybe, it's because of his strength. He can't tell when it's gone too far. It's too easy to bruise, to bleed. Make pleasure turn into pain.

Tony is staring up at him, earnest. Steve wonders if he knows what he's offering.

And then he remembers that Tony is experienced. Tony has been soliciting sex for years. Tony has been manipulating for decades. He's been on the receiving end, he's a been a victim, and he's been on top. If he is offering this, it's because he knows what Steve wants. And it's because he wants to give it to him.

So then he closes his fingers round the supple, black, handle.

"Where do you want me?" Tony asks, softly.

"Bed." Steve croaks. "Head down, ass up."

Tony settles himself; cheek pressed against the sheets, arms resting on either side of his head. Fingers curled gently into the linen. Steve attaches his leash back to the bed. He settles by his side, strokes his trembling fingers over the strong line of Tony's ribs.

"Ten." He says.

"Twenty." Tony replies.

Steve shakes his head. "Too much."

"I know what I can take. If I say twenty, I mean it."

Steve swallows. He rubs his palm over the curve of Tony's ass.

"Twenty." He agrees. "Five with hand, fifteen with paddle."

"Good choice."

Steve stands. "Safeword?"

"Red."

"Good boy." He says. "Good boy. Will -- does this send you under, usually?"

Tony pauses. "Maybe." He says. "Is that a problem?"

"No." Steve says softly. "As long as you're fine with it."

"There's cream in the cabinet above the sink."

"I remember."

Tony flexes, slightly, arches his back. It pushes his ass higher in the air, and he hangs head, shoulder blades braced tight. "Do it." He says.

"I don't know my strength, sometimes." Steve shivers. "If -- use your safeword. Just do it. If you need to."

"I'll scream." Tony warns. "I always scream. Don't stop."

Steve swallows. He raises his palm. "Okay." He breathes. "Okay."

He brings it down with a crack on Tony's ass. Too hard, too hard for a warm-up slap. Tony bucks, a sharp cry wringing from his mouth.

"I'm sorry." Steve blurts "I didn't -- "

"Again." Tony gasps. "Start again, from zero. Don't break pace."

Steve blinks, works the shudders from his limbs. He kneels on the bed, braces his hand on Tony's lower back, and slaps.

Five times; Tony's ass is red, bruising, he's squirming on the bed. Steve feels dazed; Tony, his Tony, panting on the sheets, ass pressed in the air.

It's gratifying, to say the least.

He weighs the paddle in his hand, swings it from palm to palm. Tony is still stoic, and suddenly, Steve wants to change that. He wants to hear him scream. He wants to hear him break.

He swings, the rubber hitting hard against the heated skin of Tony's ass, hard enough that he grunts, a long noise of pain coming from behind his teeth. Steve is good at this, he knows exactly how much pain he can cause, and it's always worse when you speed up.

So he beats him, five consecutive slaps, fast and hard. Tony shouts in pain, gasping, and he half loses his balance, one hand twisting in front of him as he struggles to keep straight. Steve pauses to catch his breath, not realising how ragged it had gotten. He feels like he's spinning, or flying, or both. His sub it panting on the bed, legs collapsed, hiding his face in his arms. His ass is red, red, red, a deep shade compared to the rest of his body.

Tony doesn't say a single word; he's been silenced. Steve wonders if he's under, yet, or simply breathless.

"Again." Steve orders, and he hikes Tony's hips back up, keeps his ass presented.

"Harder." Tony croaks. "Do it, do it harder."

Steve blinks himself out of the dom high. "Tony -- "

"I know what I want." He breathes. "Please, do it harder Sir."

Steve swallows. Harder. Tony wants it -- 

He raises the paddle. Tony's hips shift, almost like he's preparing to duck.

Steve swings, and he brings it down _hard._ Hard enough that the crack is audible, that Tony screams, jerks forward, hands coming up to protect his ass. He's sobbing, Steve thinks, but he hasn't safeworded, and that's that. If hasn't safeworded, then Steve continues.

So he does. He kneels on the bed, flattens Tony out against the mattress and holds his hands in place while he slaps his ass raw, the other man kicking beneath him, screaming, tossing his head. 'Steve' he keeps saying 'Steve, Steve, Steve' and then ' _yes'._

Twenty. Steve throws the paddle down. He stands there, panting, and he's ashamed to say that he does not go straight to his sub. Instead, he moves to the bathroom. Set his hands on the sink. 

Shivers.

He's high on it, he thinks. On what he just did. He doesn't know if that's good or bad. He knows that he needs to come down, and soon, because Tony is still out there.

So he splashes his face with cold water. He takes the cream from the cabinet. He makes his way over to the bed.

Tony is crying. Or, not really; it's not sobs, not like Steve, earlier. It's more like desperate gasps for breath that hitch every time they come down. His eyes are open, pupils blown, mouth lax. Steve kneels by his head, smoothes his sweaty hair from the side of his neck, and takes his pulse.

Fast, but slowing. Good. Healthy. Expected. He hasn't said anything, but that's not unusual. He doesn't track, not at first, but when Steve settles a hand on his cheek, he meets his eyes. He smiles, sloppy and loose.

"Hey." He breathes. "Hey. Was that good?"

"It was very good."

Tony makes a hum of pleasure. He rubs himself against the sheets. "Was _I_ good?"

"You were very, very good."

Tony's eyes flutter shut. "You're strong." He remarks.

"It hurt." Steve blurt. "I hurt you, didn't I?"

"Of course." Tony sighs happily. "Steve, I've had worse."

"You've -- "

"I've had worse, I mean, and enjoyed it."

Steve is kneeling between his legs, one hand poised with the cream. "You -- do you normally enjoy this?"

"Oh, yeah." Tony hums. "I like it."

"On a scale of one to ten, how far under are you right now?"

Tony makes a small noise, half a sigh, half a hum. "Seven, maybe? S'good. Easy. Like floating."

Steve's hands are shaking, but not with anxiety. He blinks, smoothes the cool cream over Tony's reddened ass. "I didn't know you liked it." He admits.

"I'll do whatever you like, Steve." Tony sighs "Whatever you want."

Steve pauses. He considers. He puts it aside for another day.

"I've been negligent." He says, working the cream into Tony's skin. "We haven't had this conversation yet. Now isn't the best time, but... tomorrow, maybe. We'll discuss it."

"Discuss it?" Tony slurs.

"What you like." Steve says simply. "What I like. We should have done this weeks ago."

Tony giggles, light and sweet. "That'll be good." He says warmly.

"It will." Steve agrees.

"Do you feel better?"

"Much better." Steve answers, calmly. "Thank you, Tony. It was very clever of you to notice what I wanted. And it was very kind of you to give it to me."

Tony ducks his face, loose and simple, like this, easily embarrassed. "You're welcome." He mumbles.

Steve smiles. He smoothes his hand up and down the back of Tony's thigh. "Climb under the covers." He says.

Tony does, and he lets Steve draw them over his shoulders. Steve unclips the leash, folds away the collar. He sits quietly next to Tony, letting his fingers repeatedly tuck a piece of Tony's hair behind the sensitive skin of his ear.

It's good. It's warm. Steve feels calm, centred. He tips back his head, closes his eyes.

"Don't leave the bed, tonight." Tony murmurs, dragging his head onto Steve's thigh. "Don't leave me tonight."

"I won't." Steve says, quietly. His fingers tap a beat along the rim of his shield, propped up against the edge of the bed. "I would never."

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I want to write another omega!verse thing, and then write a bit more of mafia au, and also howard-stark-comes-to-the-future (but that's going to be another long one) and also finish nyctophobia and liquid lunch like that will happen eventually.
> 
> So yeah. Get that stuff out the way, mostly, and then I'll write another of these.
> 
> Comment to tell me how you think it turned out? Did it seem mostly in character?? bearing in mind this is a bdsm au, I mean.


End file.
